


Grief Stricken

by Khylara



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Child Death, M/M, Peterick, Post-Hiatus (Fall Out Boy)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:34:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22671844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khylara/pseuds/Khylara
Summary: Patrick and Pete go through the worst thing a parent can.
Relationships: Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	Grief Stricken

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize in advance. *offers tissues*

Pete straightened the lapel of his suit jacket, sighing as he checked the reflection in the full length mirror hanging on the bathroom door. _I hate this,_ he thought for what had to be the thousandth time. He squared his shoulders, giving himself a stern talking to as he did so. _This_ _is for_ _Patrick_. _So you suck it up and deal and try not to cry. He's going to_ need _you to be strong._ He very much doubt he was going to be able to manage the last, but he was damn sure gonna try.

Going downstairs, he paused in front of the living room entryway, his heart going out to the man sitting on the couch. Patrick was dressed in a similar black suit, every hair in place and with not a wrinkle to be seen. The only clue to his current mood was the tear tracks streaking his face. _Oh, my love,_ Pete thought, tears in his own eyes. _I wish to hell that you didn't have to go through this._ "Patrick honey," Pete said gently, not wanting to startle him. He had already been through too much the past week already. "It's time."

"I know," Patrick said softly, swiping at his eyes. He gazed up at his lover, the look on his face full of such naked pain that Pete's heart nearly broke at the sight. "I don't want to do this."

Pete went over to him and put a hand on his shoulder, wanting more than anything to pull him into his arms instead. "I know, honey," he said, his voice quiet. "But if you don't, you'll regret it for the rest of your life."

The singer was silent for a long moment before putting his hand over Pete's. "I feel like I'm in a nightmare I can't wake up from," he confessed, closing his eyes. "I just want it to be over."

"I know, honey. I do, too." He squeezed Patrick's fingers. "I'll be right with you through all of it if it helps."

"What do you think is getting me through this?" Patrick asked as he got to his feet. He went into Pete's outstretched arms, laying his head on the bassist's shoulder. "I love you."

Pete held him close, planting a kiss on his temple. "I love you, too, Lunchbox." He forced himself to pull away. "Let's go."

They drove out to the funeral home, parking in the back to avoid the crowd of reporters flocked around the front entrance. _Vultures,_ Pete thought viciously as he deliberately turned his back on them, making sure neither he nor Patrick could be seen. _Bother someone else today. He's been through enough._ He just hoped that they didn't follow the procession to the cemetary.

Once inside, they were met by the funeral director. "Mr. Stump," he greeted, shaking Patrick's hand. "Allow me to offer you my sincerest condolences on your loss."

Patrick took a shaky breath. "Thank you," he managed to get out. Reaching over, he took Pete's hand in his. "This is my partner, Pete."

He nodded in greeting. "If you will follow me, gentlemen?" He headed down the short hallway to the main viewing room, Pete and Patrick not far behind.

The three men stepped up to the small casket centered in the middle of the room, tastfully adorned with white roses. "Did you have any trouble?' Patrick asked, trying not to think about how small it was.

The director shook his head. "Everything has been taken care of," he said quietly as he stepped away. "I'll leave you alone." He left out a side door.

Pete and Patrick stood there, simply gazing at the small coffin and the even smaller boy lying within. "He was never this quiet," Patrick said softly, reaching out to touch Declan's hand. "From the time he was born he was always making some kind of noise."

"I remember." Pete's voice was just as quiet. "You used to come to rehersal with the worst circles under your eyes from when he used to keep you up nights."

"I was awake for days when he had colic," Patrick remembered. "But he had the sweetest smile. I used to hold him and just marvel at how lucky I was."

"He had us both wrapped around his little finger and he never realized it," Pete said as he slid an arm around Patrick. "Bronx and Saint are gonna miss their little buddy."

"Is Meagan bringing them?" Patrick asked.

Pete shook his head. "She figured that there was a good chance you wouldn't want to see kids right now."

Patrick thought about that for a moment. "Yeah. You're probably right." There was a pause. "He looks good. Like...like a little boy. I was so afraid he wouldn't."

"They did a nice job." Pete agreed. He brushed a kiss against Patrick's cheek. "Do you want me to leave you alone for a bit?"

Patrick shook his head, biting his lip. "No. I just..." Tears began sliding down his cheeks as he turned blindly into Pete's arms. "I can't...Pete..."

Pete buried a kiss in Patrick's hair as he held the singer close, tears in his own eyes as he whispered in his ear. "It's okay, honey. I've got you. I'm here and I won't let you go. Not ever." He sniffed, his fingers digging into Patrick's shaking shoulders. "I've got you."

When Patrick finally drew away, he swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. "God, I'm a wreck," he muttered. "I feel like I'll never be okay again."

Pete's heart ached. "What can I do?" He suddenly felt helpless.

Patrick rested his head on Pete's shoulder. "You're doing it. You're here." He took a deep, shuddering breath as he drew away. "Did you want to say good bye?'

"Yeah." Pete turned to the small casket. "Good bye, little man. It was good having you while you were here." He brushed a kiss against Declan's pale cheek. "I love you and I'll watch over your daddy for you." He stepped back to give Patrick room.

Patrick knelt a moment, saying a prayer before crossing himself and standing up to lean over his son. "You were the best thing that ever happened to me and I'll never forget you," he whispered, brushing a hand over his hair. "Daddy will always love you, baby boy. Good bye." He kissed Declan's forehead. "God bless."

just as he was stepping away, Elisa came through the door, dressed in a sleeveless black dress with a short veil over her red rimmed eyes. Seeing Pete and Patrick standing at the front of the room, she slowly walked over to them both, stopping directly in front of them. She slappd Patrick hard in the face. "You've got a hell of a nerve being here," she hissed. 

Patrick took a deep breath and looked his ex wife square in the eye. "Declan was my son, too, Elisa."

She clenched her fists. "He's dead because of you," she accused, her voice bitter.

"He had pneumonia," Patrick countered. "The doctors did everything they could. His little body just couldn't take it." A sorrowful look crossed his face. "It wasn't anyone's fault."

"You keep telling yourself that. You'll have the rest of your life to." She turned her gaze to Pete, her rage obvious. "And you...I don't want you here."

A stricken look crossed the bassist's face as Patrick quickly defended him. "But I do," Patrick said, taking Pete's hand in his again. "He loved Declan, too. he's got as much right to be here as you or I do."

"I don't care," she said. "Either he goes or I go out and start talking to all those reporters waiting outside for a juicy tidbit." A small, mean smile crossed her face at the horrified one on her ex husband's. "And you wouldn't want that, would you?"

Patrick was about to offer a retort when Pete squeezed his fingers and intervened. "Honey...it's okay," he said, his voice soft but full of strength and pride all the same. "You stay here. I'll go wait in the car."

Patrick turned toward him, his eyes wide. "Pete, no," he protested.

"Yes." Very gently, he gave Patrick a kiss. "I'll be right outside." He let his lover go. "I love you."

Patrick sniffed, tears rising once again in his hazel eyes. "I love you, too."

Pete turned toward Elisa. "i'm sorry for your loss," he said before turning away from them both. Squaring his shoulders, he walked out of the room. 

All Patrick could do was watch him go.

*****

Some time later, Patrick came out of the funeal home's double doors, wiping away the tears on his cheeks as he made his way to the waiting limo. He slid in, immediately burying his face in Pete's chest. "I'm sorry," he sobbed, clutching him close. "I'm so fucking sorry."

"Shh, honey. It's okay. I know it's not you," Pete said softly, petting his hair and trying not to think about what a vindictive bitch Elisa had turned into after the divorce. "I know you had nothing to do with it. It was all her." he began to rock him back in an effort to soothe. "Shh, now. It's all right."

Patrick managed to quiet down as the limo slowly made it's way through traffic to the cemetary. "I'm glad you're here," he finally said when he calmed down a little. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You'll never have to try," Pete said, kissing him yet again. "What happened after I left? Did she try anything else?"

Patrick shook his head. "No. Joe and Andy ran interference. She didn't dare." He closed his eyes. "They're going to meet us at the cemetary."

"Okay." Pete paused. "Your mom?"

"Was pretty much a basket case. Like we suspected," Patrick answered. "I'm honestly surprised she came."

Pete squeezed his shoulders. "I'm so sorry, honey."

Patrick let out a heavy sigh. "I'm just glad you're with me," he said again. "God, I need a drink."

"There's a whole bottle of whiskey and another of tequila waiting for us when we get home," Pete promised, kissing him yet again. "We'll get plastered and take a nap for about a year. Sound good?"

"Sounds wonderful." Patrick drew away enough to give Pete a wan smile. "You always know what I need. I love you."

"I love you, too, honey." The car stopped and they got out together.

*****

When they finally got home, Patrick immdiately went upstairs to change out of his suit. Pete made his way through the house checking alarms, turning off lights and letting the dog out to run around in the backyard for a few minutes. _Give him some time,_ he told himself as he watched Hemmingway. _That's what he needs now._ Whistling for the dog to come in, he gave the bull terrier a final pat before going upstairs. 

Adding his suit to the pile destined for the dry cleaners, he climbed into bed next to Patrick and pulled the singer into his arms. "I forgot the whiskey," he said, suddenly remembering. He began to get up.

Patrick stopped him. "We can get drunk later," he said, his voice quiet and sad. "Right now? All I want you to do is hold me tight."

And because Pete loved him, he did.


End file.
